Space Junk

by Andrew Bixler

  “This is great,” Tobi says, poking out two eyeholes and pulling the bright cap onto his head.

  Spez takes off his tattered ‘SPEZ’ cap and slips on the new one. “Uh, thanks…”

  “Now you gotta tell me about the battle!” Todd grins and tenses in anticipation.

  “Maybe we shit watch the episote, and me and Spez here kin nar-rate,” Tobi suggests.

  “That’d be Pants-tacular!” Todd says.

  “I might need a beer, though, afer I kin ‘member exacly what happen’t,” Spez says.

  “What’s your brand?” Todd asks.

  “Ol’ Gart ‘it be better ‘an fine.”

  Todd leads them through the garage into the back of the store, and he rummages inside an old fridge covered in colorful stickers. The little room is littered with videos and boxes full of toys. On the TV, a junk dealer is having a heart attack and wailing about going to an afterlife called ‘Georgia.’ The show cuts off abruptly when Todd ejects the tape and switches the channel to the team’s livestream, which is currently airing a rerun. He tosses Spez and Tobi a couple cold ones, and the screen turns dark as he cues up the episode.

  “So, we was comin’ out a Scrapper’s Delight,” Tobi sets the scene. “Yuh know, after a few beers ant a boat loat of shrimp, and it was dark like it always is—”

  A beam of light suddenly slices across the screen, and a ship explodes in a ball of blue fire.

  “Whoa, this is pretty re-listic.” Spez takes a big gulp of his beer. “It’s almost bitter ‘an bein’ ther.”

  “Yeah, I don’t ‘member any of this happenin’.” Tobi jerks back in surprise when another ship bursts apart.

  “So, who’s your favorite character?” Todd asks. “Besides Pants, of course. She kind of makes the show. But my other favorite is Horton. He’s got the brulest ship and the best skills.”

  “No way,” Tobi says. “Like I was tellin’ Spez afer, The One is one funny son of a perch.”

  “I like Beer the best,” Spez says. “He’s always calm and collect’it and knows jist what tuh do.”

  The three of them finish off a case of Ol’ Guard as they take in a mini-marathon, laughing and arguing late into the night. By the time they’ve caught up with the latest episode, the beers have caught up with them, and as they stumble out of the shop, they break into a raucous, warbly rendition of the Pants Team Pink theme song –

  Help Pants Team Pink,

  Help Pants Team Pink!

  Bum bum bum!

  We’re about to go on an incredible adventure,

  The opportunity for fun will be great!

  Life is an upside down illusion,

  So grab it by the floppy ears and ride into the future!

  We’re moving so fast through this universe that smells of tree nuts and sunshine,

  Hang on tight to live your dreams!

  Go Pants Team Pink!

  Go Pants Team Pink!

  Fly into adventure!

  Find the treasure at the end of time,

  And discover the love inside to teeter forward into a new day!

  Go Pants Team Pink!

  Go Pants Team Pink!

  Explode Pants Team Pink!

  Adam lucks out, crash-landing the Asteroid Jones II into a parking space within spitting distance of the valet. He slugs down the rest of his beer and belches, “BUAAA,” as he crushes the can and tosses it on the floor.

  The dark pyramid casts a murky haze over the perpetual night sky as he deboards and dashes across the metal turf. He’s already panting and soaked in sweat when he reaches the entrance. He forces his way through the crowded lobby and fidgets in the hallway until the elevator arrives. When the doors open, he rushes into the box, squeezing past a group of disembarking seniors, and presses the button for ‘Waste Management.’

  Frantically patting at his pockets, he’s relieved to find that he remembered to bring the black gold. He’s surprised to feel a similar shape in his other pocket, and he suddenly remembers the videotape he bought on Earth. “Waxwork,” he reminds himself.

  For a moment he considers the odd similarities between the two alien objects, but he sloughs it off as a meaningless coincidence.

  When he steps out of the elevator, The Foreman’s muscular, poncho-clad secretary greets him, “Welcome back, Mr. Jones. She’s waiting for you in her cabin.”

  Adam holds up his hand. “One second.” He moves toward the copper machine in the corner of the room, presses the button for xpresso, and impatiently waits for a stream of black sludge to spill out. With his pinky high, he throws back the cup and drains the goopy liquid in a single, painful swallow. His eyes watering, he rasps, “All set.”

  The young mannequin yanks open the door to the dark cabin, and Adam cautiously steps inside.

  “Ahoy,” The Foreman says, gracefully rising from a bench in front of the fake fire. “I told you it wouldn’t be long.”

  Two men, whom Adam recognizes but can’t quite place, are hunched next to her.

  “Who are these fish heads?” Adam asks.

  The stern-looking one, dressed in a black and white UE uniform stands and scowls. “Vice Admiral Zok of the United Empires.”

  “I remember now,’ Adam says. “You’re that Ear who threatened to kill me.” He points at the round little man staggering to his feet. “And you’re that debt collector. You guys are all working together? I should have known it would take every one of you to catch the Asteroid Jones II.”

  “Ha,” The Foreman sneers. “In the end, all it took to get you crawling back was the apprehension of one bumbling old man.”

  “Where is he?” Adam demands. “You better not have hurt him.”

  “You’re in no position to make threats,” she says. “Nevertheless, he’s perfectly fine. And he will stay that way, provided you give me what I want.”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Adam says. “But I want to see him first.”

  “Bring him in,” she says, to no one in particular.

  The cabin door opens, and Grandpa is rolled inside, tied to a desk chair and talking the guard’s ear off.

  “It wasn’t so easy getting around back then,” Grandpa tells the stone-faced thug. “For one thing, fuel cells didn’t last half as long as they do now, and they were a lot less reliable. We were constantly getting stranded in the middle of nowhere, surviving on nothing but grit and recycled urine for space weeks at a time. And there was only one flavor of ration – plain. But we managed. We were made of tougher stuff…” The old man glances around the room and, when he sees his grandson, exclaims, “Adam!”

  “Grandpa!” Adam cries.

  “Thank you Zilch,” The Foreman says. “You can cut him loose.”

  The guard rips the plastic ties from Grandpa’s wrists and legs with his bare hands and then obediently lumbers out of the room.

  “Are you all right?” Adam asks.

  “Oh, I’m great,” Grandpa says. “You wouldn’t believe the movies they have, stuff I thought was lost forever. I just watched Clifford! And it was everything I always dreamed it would be. This is the best vacation I’ve had in years. I only wish I hadn’t messed things up for you.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Adam says.

  “You see,” The Foreman says. “He looks better than he did when we found him.”

  Adam looks Grandpa up and down. “Well, I can’t deny that.”

  “Yes, very good,” Zok says. “Now, if this little reunion is over, can we get down to business?”

  “Fine, but I want to know what you plan to do with the black gold,” Adam demands as he helps Grandpa to his feet. “And if you’re all working together, which one of you gets to keep it?”

  “That’s no business of yours,” Zok says.

  “I’m sure we’ll have no problem working out the details amongst ourselves,” The Foreman says. “Now as you can see, your grandfather is alive and well. So if you would be so kind.” She holds out her palm, expectantly.

  Adam hesitates, pa
tting his pockets.

  “Oh, and in case you’re thinking of trying anything sneaky.” The Foreman turns toward the debt collector fidgeting behind her, and Adam notices that the little man is holding a familiar metal box. “It did occur to me that none of us has seen the black gold before, which obviously poses a problem where authenticity is concerned. Fortunately, your grandfather has provided us with a solution. Dave will confirm that you aren’t trying to cheat us. Or that you are…”

  Some sort of living slime wriggling atop Dave’s shoulder groans, “Gahhh…”

  Adam looks at Grandpa and shrugs.

  “Come now,” she says. “Don’t be a sore loser. If you hurry, you can still escape with your lives.”

  Adam stuffs his hands into his pockets, and before he has time to think it over, he yanks the object free and slaps it into The Foreman’s hand. Catching a glimpse of Grandpa gaping at the black cuboid in wide-eyed horror, Adam immediately regrets his decision.

  “It’s more magnificent than I ever imagined,” The Foreman says.

  She nods, and Dave turns one of the knobs on the machine. A loud beeping erupts, and the screen pulses bright red.

  Grinning, she says, “This is too easy.”

  “What are those little windows on the front?” Dave asks.

  “Who knows,” Zok says. “Who cares? We finally have it.”

  “After so long…” The Foreman says. “None of you could possibly begin to comprehend. Now nothing can take it from me.”

  “You mean from us,” Zok corrects her.

  The Foreman clutches the box to her chest, and a wicked smile forms across her face. “You honestly think I would ever let you or those two bungling chidiots possess the black gold?”

  “Hey,” Dave meekly protests.

  “We made a deal, Foreman,” Zok says.

  “I do believe in keeping one’s end of a bargain, whenever convenient,” she says. “Unfortunately for you, you’ve caught me at a most inconvenient moment.”

  “This isn’t the way I wanted it to go,” Zok says.

  “Come on, Zok,” she says. “You’re under my roof. How did you think this would end?”

  While the others are distracted, Adam tries to rouse Grandpa, but the old man won’t budge. The Foreman, gazing at the object in false-triumph, doesn’t seem to notice Zok wrenching the detector from Dave’s hands and lifting it in the air behind her.

  “I really am sorry it came to this,” Zok says, as he brings the box down and savagely smashes it against the back of The Foreman’s head.

  She instantly crumples to the floor, and the room goes silent.

  After a long moment, Zok sighs and tosses the bloody instrument to the ground. He steps toward The Foreman’s lifeless body and crouches over it. But as he reaches for the dark object clutched in her hands, she twitches.

  Producing a strange metallic cough, she pushes herself off the floor, and Zok backs away. As she sits up, her hacking slowly morphs into a grating laugh, and she throws her head back. Behind her golden hair, her face is torn open. A wide flap of skin dangles from her polished, blood-smeared skull, and mechanical tendons in her jaw stretch and retract as she howls, her sparkling green eye, cold and lidless, staring out madly.

  “You see?” she shrieks, ripping the loose hunk of flesh from her face and tossing it to the floor. “You can’t beat me.”

  “Come on,” Adam pleads, dragging Grandpa toward the door. “We have to get out of here.”

  “But… you… that…” Grandpa mumbles, pointing at the black box in The Foreman’s hand.

  “Thank you, Adam Jones,” The Foreman calls after him. “I knew you would come around.”

  “Uh, no problem,” Adam says on his way out of the cabin. “Just remember to be kind – rewind.”

  Pi lifts the dark object above her head and proclaims, “I have the power!”

  “What kind of power does it have?” Dave asks.

  She brings the brick back down and examines it more closely. “I’m not sure…”

  “You are in possession of UE property!” Zok shouts.

  She holds the object out toward him. “Come and take it.”

  Zok moves his hand to the space gun on his hip, and the door to the cabin suddenly whips open, smacking hard against the rare Earth-wood wall.

  Steve strolls into the room, sipping on a cup of xpresso. “This place has the nicest bathrooms.” He glances around with a confused look. “What’s going on? Are you guys going to watch a movie?”

  “You just missed Adam Jones,” Dave says.

  “You mean he was here, and you let him get away?” Steve whines. “Please tell me you got the money.”

  Dave bites down on his bottom lip and shrugs.

  “I have full authority to shoot,” Zok says, pulling his space gun from its holster and pointing it at Pi. “Now, toss me the element.”

  “Wait a minute, that’s the element?” Steve says. “Let me see it.” He sets his cup down on the fireplace mantel and plucks the object from Pi’s hand. “Hmm, it looks like a tape to me.”

  He tosses it into the air, and she snatches it. “What do you mean, a ‘tape?’” she asks, turning it over in her hands.

  Slurping from his cup, he says, “You know, a videotape. Primitive civilizations use them to store porn and other… stuff. It’s sort of interesting, but it’s no black gold.”

  “A… videotape?” Pi repeats, searching her internal database for more information. Using her retina to scan the object into the SCRAP network, something she should have done the moment she laid her hands on it, she confirms Steve’s claim. “He’s right… It’s something called Waxwork.”

  “What the fish is Waxwork?” Dave asks.

  “It’s bullchit is what it is.” She hurls the tape at the ground, and it shatters.

  “That’s just great,” Zok says. “I could not have chosen a dimmer group of stars with which to align myself. Well done everyone.”

  “Hey man, you were here too,” Steve argues. “These guys are definitely chidiots – there’s no doubt about that. But you’re just as much to blame.”

  “You’re suggesting this was somehow my fault?” Zok clenches his teeth, and blood rushes to the surface of his skin. “Where the fish were you? If you hadn’t been off fishing around, we would have known it was a trick from the start.”

  “Let’s keep our heads screwed on, so to speak,” Pi interjects. She switches to the security channel, and commands, “Zilch, I want every available employee searching for Adam Jones and the Asteroid Jones II. Do not let him leave the premises.”

  “I’m on it, ma’am,” Zilch replies.

  “I didn’t want to say anything, but…” Steve points to his cheek. “Your face is peeling.”

  Despite his boorish delivery, it’s a good reminder. Hiking up her dress, she tears off a short length of red fabric and ties it around her gory eye. When she looks up, the men are staring at her newly-exposed thighs.

  “How could this have happened?” Zok moans. “Why didn’t you scan the thing into your system?”

  “Maybe I would have,” Pi says, “if I hadn’t been so busy being bludgeoned.”

  The muscles in Zok’s arms tense. “I wouldn’t have been forced to take such action if you hadn’t betrayed me.”

  “We can assign blame for the rest of your short life,” she says. “But it won’t change anything. We can’t let him escape. Have you alerted your patrol?”

  “It seems as though I have no other choice,” Zok says, his frown twisting into a tortured smirk. “But if you think it will benefit you, you’re dumber than these two chidiots.”

  “Is that necessary?” Steve asks.

  “Ma’am,” Zilch cuts in. “The Asteroid Jones II was just spotted leaving the parking lot.”

  Pi briefly pauses to determine what action has the best odds of producing her desired result, and she instructs Zilch, “Gather the fleet.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Zilch confirms.

  “And prepa
re my ship.”

  “That’s not necessary, ma’am,” Zilch says. “We are fully prepared to handle any and every possible contingency—”

  “I believe you, Zilch. But this is something that requires a woman’s touch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well?” Zok says, watching her impatiently. “We’re waiting…”

  “He’s gone,” Pi says.

  “You mean you let him escape?” Zok wails.

  She moves to the battered black gold detector lying on the rug and says, “You had better pray to the space gods that this box still works, Zok. Or next we’ll get to see what your skull looks like.”

  Lifting the machine, she wipes her dark blood off the screen and turns the knob. But nothing happens. “Fish this stupid hunk of—” She smashes her fist against the glass, and a faint red dot appears.

  “I don’t get it,” Dave says. “How come it was beeping if that wasn’t the black gold?”

  “He must have had the real thing with him,” Pi says. “But we were too close. The signal was so strong we couldn’t tell the black gold from anything else in the room, or the building for that matter.”

  “I’ve had enough,” Zok barks. “I’m going to take care of this myself. Don’t try to stop me,” he tells them as he dramatically marches out of the cabin.

  Dave points at the red speck blinking on the screen. “It’s moving toward the edge.”

  “It won’t be long before it’s out of range,” Steve says.

  Pi runs a hand over her dress and walks to the bar, where she pours herself the strongest, oiliest glass of lubricant she can mix.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Steve asks.

  “The plan is to find the Asteroid Jones II and reduce it to space dust,” she says, lifting the glass to her mouth and allowing the liquid to coat her insides.

  “But what if you destroy the element?” Dave asks.

  “The black gold is purported to be the strongest matter in the universe,” she says. “I’m sure it can withstand a little life-extinguishing explosion. And if not, then so be it.”